Redemption
by ThornedRose96
Summary: It was predicted that the world would come to an end. How? Mankind. In this post-apocalyptic world, Harlow and seven other survivors have found their way to a bunker, hoping to find salvation from the hell outside. But hell has bled through the walls and they now fight not only to survive this new world but also to survive each other. Did the lucky ones die in the blast? AU/OOC
1. Chapter 1

**Introducing Ms. Harlow...**

**_Harlow..._**

Ever heard of Judgement Day? Armageddon? The Rapture? If not, allow me to explain. For as long as mankind has been on this Earth, there has been faith, in one form or another. A belief in something higher than ourselves, an almighty power that ultimately decides when we live and when we will die. And along with that faith comes the idea that, one day, everything we know will come to an end. How it would happen, no one could ever be sure: a Great Flood that would separate the just from the sinners, such as Noah's; a colossal flare that would destroy man, predicted by the Mayans; or perhaps our modern day global warming, our Earth suffocating under a blanket of deadly fuels.

But, in the end, it was never some unknown force that brought the world to its end. Instead, it was us. Mankind.

Maybe we grew too greedy. Perhaps we demanded too much. Or it might have always been coming. I, for one, will never know. I can only tell you what happened that day. The day the world ended.

The Earth was at war. Every continent, every _country_, was armed to the teeth and ready to use deadly force. We were struggling, every one us standing on our last leg, clinging to any bit of hope we could find. The Earth had become too populated and it was dying. The growling stomachs of the people couldn't be supported by the dwindling supply of food and countries were beginning to starve. Desperation and hostility thrived in the chaos and tensions grew high. Our resources fell short and oil became practically non-existent, with the superpowers of the world fighting over the last scraps. We were like rabid animals, killing each other for the last leg on a carcass.

When the bombs were dropped, we received no warning. No offer of peace or surrender; it wasn't even an invasion. It was as if the sky had split open and the very essence of hell was raining down upon us. It bled, lit up by the destruction of the ground below. Great mushroom clouds bloomed, reaching for the heavens, and the Earth shook, as if its very fabric had been torn. The Sun seemed to go out, smothered by the destruction and there was panic everywhere. People were running through the streets, screaming for loved ones, for an escape. They died in those streets, blown apart by the sheer force of the explosions or crushed by falling rubble as buildings and cities collapsed. The pavements were painted red as we ran, searching for some form of salvation.

I remember being frozen, unable to comprehend what was happening. I had read the great stories of Pompeii; the great blast that ended an entire civilisation. I had been taught about the horrors in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, of Little Boy and the murder of thousands. But I had never imagined that I would experience something so terrifying; to me, they could have been ghost stories, things that went bump in the night but could never actually hurt me.

How wrong I had been.

As the building began to shake, its foundations giving way to the blasts, my father took hold of my hand and told me to run. Run where, he never said, but that didn't matter. It was just _run_; run and don't look back. Don't stop, don't hesitate, don't think. Just run.

So I did.

I made it as far as the lobby before the roof began to cave in. Chunks of marble and steel and granite rained down on us like hail, and my father forced me into cover, trying to shield me. I cowered into him, my heart beating hard against my ribs, and I was sure that would be the end of us. There was no escape, only death; we were kidding ourselves believing that we could fight fate. I shut my eyes and waited for the inevitable.

Something wrapped around my waist, something strong and supporting; I honestly thought that it was the arms of death, prepared to carry me far away from there. Can you blame me for hoping, in my last minutes, that maybe angels did exist and they had come to take me? I relaxed into the grip, deciding that there was no use in fighting. What would be the point? Why would I want to fight, to return to a world where the sky was made of fire and the ground was layered by dust? That world had no future, no relief...no hope.

But then there was a voice in my ear, ordering me to _move_ and I opened my eyes. I wasn't dead. I wasn't being delivered to Heaven. I was still cowering behind a toppled desk, my arms wrapped around my father's neck and my lips muttering a prayer that I didn't believe in. The arm tugged on my waist again and this time, I didn't question it. I didn't look to see who it was. I just obeyed. I took my father's hand and followed the person holding me, running and swerving to avoid falling rubble and leaping over the bodies that already littered the floor.

We burst through a heavy door and almost tumbled down a flight of steel steps, the arm around me unrelenting and demanding as we took the steps two at a time. At the bottom was a second door, one made of wrought iron and bolted, air-locked like a World War Two bunker. The man who had grabbed me moved forward and fumbled to open the door, cursing loudly as the building continued to shake. I was sure we were going to die.

With a great screech of metal on metal and the groan of hinges that hadn't been oiled in decades, the door was wrenched open and we dove inside, collapsing to the ground as my legs gave way beneath me; my body trembled as if an earthquake was taking place inside me. Distantly, I was aware of the door being slammed shut and the sound of several locks being slid home, but in my mind's eye, all I could see were the great clouds of gas and toxins, the great skyscrapers toppling as if they were made of cards. And the bodies of millions, brought down by an impossible force and crushed by the stampeding crowds.

Most would say I was lucky. That I had survived what thousands could not. And perhaps I was, at the time at least. But now, knowing what I do and having experienced life in that bunker, I have only one thing to say:

The lucky ones died in the blast.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: There is some rather insulting and rude language in this chapter, so my apologies. It is not meant to offend anyone or show my feelings for these situations in particular. However, due to the setting of the story, I can't tiptoe around the real issues - this is supposed to show the true basics and evils of humanity when life becomes animalistic and humanity or morals are not the most important things on the list. There will be excessive swearing, violence and some relatively disturbing content. If you can't stomach that, I suggest you stop reading now. Many thanks. **

* * *

_**Meeting** **Mickey...**_

"Love, you've gotta move." Someone was talking to me, but I couldn't respond. I couldn't even think. All I could see were the faces of the dying; the distraught and the terrified.

"Seriously sweetheart, I ain't kidding. You can't just sit there, you're in the way." I recognised that voice. Not well, but I knew it.

"Mickey, can't you just give her a minute? She's clearly in shock." I definitely knew that voice. It was my father's.

"No, I can't give her a fucking minute. She needs to get away from the goddamn door." A tight grasp wrapped around my upper arm and I suddenly found myself being forcibly moved, picked up and dragged like a rag doll.

"Hey!" I shouted, my voice hoarse. "I can walk!"

"Oh, it speaks!" his tone - as the speaker is clearly male - was heavy with sarcasm.

"Yes, it speaks! Now, get off me!" I lifted my head and glared at the man who was currently manhandling me like some fucking caveman. He was tall, with dark hair that barely brushed his shoulders and these piercing blue eyes that seemed cold and hard like ice. His jaw and chin were covered by a thick beard that could probably have done with a trim and his skin was pale, like he hasn't seen sunlight in months. I knew him immediately.

"You!" I gasped, my eyes raking over his face as he lifted one eyebrow, waiting for me to clue him in on my sudden revelation. "You saved us!"

He laughed coldly. "Well done, love. Finally caught up with the play, have you?"

"Mickey, c'mon. There's no need to be like that."

"Oh, shut the fuck up, Jarred. No asked for your opinion." The guy holding me - Mickey - snarled at someone to my left. He turned his attention back to me. "So, you gunna move or do I have to fucking drag you?"

I glared back at him. "I'll move, arsehole." I yanked my arm out of his grip and stumbled backwards, putting some distant between us. I glanced around the room and realised that there are five other people standing around us, two women and three men. The room itself that we were standing in looked like some sort of bomb shelter, with thick concrete walls that were damp and cracked but looked solid enough to withstand the strongest blast. Several pillars were spaced throughout the room, supporting the ceiling and splitting the room into sections. Lining the far walls were several industrial crates that looked old and relatively dusty, stacked on top of each other into neat piles. In the middle of the room sat three sofas, each looking moth-eaten and worn, the stuffing seeping out of splits in the fabric like blood forcing itself out of a wound. The thing that I noticed most though was how cold it was; it felt like some well-stocked tomb.

"Where are we?" I asked, turning my attention back to Mickey who had moved back to the door and seemed to be checking the locks. But it was my father who answered me. He was leaning against the back of one of the sofas, arms crossed over his chest.

"Basement would be my first guess."

"Then your first guess would be wrong." I glanced over at Mickey.

"What is it then?" I snapped at him, quickly getting tired of his snarky attitude.

He raised his eyebrows at my sharp tone but answered anyway. "It's an air-raid shelter. Reckon it was built back in the 40's, during the last big war."

"And you know this how?"

He smirked. "Well, it doesn't take a fucking retard to figure it out. Big, air-locked door, walls that would take a decade to drill through and enough room to house the entire building? What else would it have been built for, a girl-scout clubhouse?"

I rolled my eyes. "Jesus, do you always answer questions like a fucking prick?"

He grinned and pulled a cigarette packet out of his pocket, taking one out and putting it to his lips. "Ask and find out." He lit the cigarette and took a drag.

"Do you have to smoke in here?" The older woman to my right asked, her face twisted in disgust. "I don't want my daughter breathing that shit in." The daughter in question looked about fifteen and didn't seem to be having any issues with it; in fact, she looked like she was tempted to snatch the fag right out of his mouth.

Mickey shrugged. "My bunker; my rules. I'm sure she'll manage." Then he frowned and looked at her more closely. "Who the fuck are you anyway?"

"What, you don't know?" I asked incredulously. "They're apparently in _your bunker_ and you don't know who they are?"

"Well, clearly not sweetheart or I wouldn't have fucking asked, now would I?" he was still frowning at the other woman. "This bitch and her band of merry-men forced their way in here before I had time to shut the door. I went back up top to find a gun and shoot the fuckers down but instead, I found you, princess, and your dear old daddy." He rolled his eyes at the thought. "So, I'll ask again: who the fuck are you?"

The woman sniffed in disdain. "My name is Marilyn Walters. I assume you've heard of me?"

"You're pretty full of yourself. No, I don't know you; should I?"

Marilyn's mouth dropped open in shock. "I'm one of this city's leading council-women! How could you not know me?!"

"Well, you're like government, right? You help manage our humble city? Build animal-shelters, answer pleas, take care of the poor and destitute; that kind of thing?"

"Yes, that's correct." Marilyn straightened, her face haughty and proud as he spoke about her work.

Mickey leaned in like he was revealing some great secret. "Yeah, I hate you pricks."

Marilyn looked aghast. "I beg your pardon?"

He took another toke before answering, blowing the smoke in her direction. "Let me tell you why. Because you lot know fuck all about anything. You sit up on your high horses all day long, pretending to do the city some great favour when all your really doing is looking after your own cheap arses and letting us common folk do your dirty work. You stand here, acting like some posh prick with a silver spoon up your arse because daddy had enough money to buy you in politics, when all you really need is good fuck to loosen you up a bit. Oh, for fuck sake, take the damn thing!" He shouted the last in exasperation and tossed the half smoked cigarette at Marilyn's daughter, who grabbed at it like a dying man does at food and took a hard toke.

"Olivia, don't touch that! You don't know where it's been!" she snatched the cigarette off of her daughter and stamped it into the ground.

"You crushed that cigarette like you crushed the rest of us fucking dogs." Mickey pulled out another cigarette and handed it to Olivia. "Have that one darling, and if she takes it again, I'll bitch slap the cunt."

Marilyn stared at him with a mixture of shock and disgust. "How can you talk to me like that?!"

"Love, it was because of cunts like you that we're hiding down in this fucking hellhole like rats in a goddamn sewer. So, I'm sorry if I'm a bit tense but you and your precious fucking government got us into this situation in the first place. If it was up to me, you'd be dead, lying face down in shit like the rest of them."

"Well, I can see that your mother never taught you any manners! Didn't she teach you how to speak to your superiors?"

I knew as soon as the words left Marilyn's mouth that it was a big mistake. Mickey was across the room in a second, his eyes burning with pure hatred. He grabbed Marilyn's face in both hands and held so close that they were nose to nose.

"You know, that's real funny. It'll be even funnier watching you insult my mother with no fucking teeth, you dirty fucking whore."

The guy closest to Mickey stepped forward then, placing a hand on Mickey's shoulder. "Mick, stop. There's no need for this."

Mickey didn't move for moment, his gaze boring into Marilyn's; I could see the pure fear dancing in her wide eyes. I thought he was trying to drill into her skull with his eyes alone. Then, with deep sigh, he released her.

"You're right." He responded, his eyes still trained on Marilyn. "I'm sorry for getting out of hand. But you're really starting to fuck me off." He turned away from her, eyes squeezed shut and he mouthed numbers, obviously counting to control his temper.

"Well, that wasn't a very sincere apology. You clearly have no sense of decorum." I rolled my eyes now. She clearly didn't know when to shut her mouth.

I saw Mickey smile as he turned around to face her again. He gestured to Olivia. "She your biological daughter?"

Marilyn looked thrown by the change of topic. "Yes."

"Only child?"

"Yes."

"Married?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't have a husband."

He nodded to himself. He glanced down at the cigarette still smoking on the floor, the smoke rising up between them like some unsubstantial barrier that marked the differences between them and, in turn, their two worlds. He lifted his gaze slowly back up to meet her's. "Well, that's interesting. I suspected as much. Middle-aged woman...ovaries all dried up...with a daughter that disobeys you every damn fucking command. But its no wonder: with looks like that, you couldn't put lead in a blind man's pencil." He smiled coldly at her and murmured in a flat voice. "When you're done getting up in my face, go look at the closest mirror and see how much of a self-important, hypocritical, ugly fucking cunt you truly are and maybe the world won't look so beneath you anymore." He turned to look at the rest of us, grinning at the rest of us like we'd shared some big joke, completely ignoring Marilyn's gasp of outrage. "Now, who wants the grand tour?"


End file.
